Curve away

My fear of being
being late
has gone around and caught a trail:
dimensions where I dub along
the tap of feet running from
myself, and I know it's me
not from the horsetail
nor from the beat
but from the fear of those feet
touching the heat.

Silence

In the dustiest reaches
of a random mind
where order's soverreign
blinks in the torchlight
you're reflected from every
corner
and bent mirrors
bear your imperfections
promoted to superior beauty
and your smile and your sad eyes
sad, and terrible in their wonderfulness
don't need sound
don't need words.

Not-knowing

The eternal balance
falters and sways
when at stake something
unknown
moves in the texture
of the day
just out of sight
behind the corner
of the mind
where sound is lost
in worries
and smell
is sought anew.